


Getting a run up

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Flirting, Cheesy, Cured Dean, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Bears The Mark of Cain, Dean Flirts, Dean Has Nightmares, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Kissing, Light Dom/sub, Mark of Cain, Mild Dom Language, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Spanking, Strip Tease, Swearing, a little bit mean, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2499677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set in the weeks following S10.E03.  Dean is still finding his feet since being cured of is affliction.  Is a quick and dirty fling the solution? Can he even round one up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And, yeah, this OFC is Aussie too. I'm a beginner. Write what you know, right? Maybe I'm going for a very specific diversity...

Laura taps at her keyboard and sips her cider.  It's a quiet bar on a Wednesday night, post parma, and she's staying off the heavy stuff, filling in the gaps on her thesis one handed.

A man takes the stool beside her, orders something from the bartender and keeps to himself. It happens often enough that she only glances enogh to see his plaid shirt and jeans, the short dark-blond hair.

She reads and taps away. Reads and realises...  "Sorry, did you talk to me?" she asks the side of his head.

"I said hey," he responds, turning to her, friendly, open, with the slightest of pauses.

Laura pauses, noticing that he's different.  He's light.  He's handsome.  "Hey," she replies, matching the crinkles in his  eyes.

He looks at her laptop but says nothing, or decides not to say something, and turns back to the bar with a sip.

So after a few seconds, in the place of conversation, Laura goes back to her work.

"So what brings you here?" he asks lamely.  She sees him tilt his hands, a small gesture of defeat.  He's wondering what the hell that was. _Ass_.

"Uh, just getting some work done," she answers, stopping to drink for a bit.  "Working on my thesis."

"A thesis? Wow," he throws, chagrined, and tilts his head at his luck. "You must be smart."  

 _C'mon man,_ she thinks.   _Don't be like that.  Don't compete_.  "Yeah. But mostly I can crap on for 20-thousand words," she says dryly. "A very special skill."

"And how's that going?"  He turns to her properly, an elbow on the bar, with half a smirk that's trying for sassy, but it's a swipe.

"Well, turns out they have to be in sentences. And make sense," she smiles sideways, "and be true-ish and shit. Bit off more than I can chew apparently."

"You do that often?"  He's getting closer, a spark.

She likes looking at him, and it makes her smirk back.  "It's character building... and now I've got shitloads." He grins at her, warming up, but she doesn't understand how someone so good-looking is so rusty.   _Maybe he's coming out of something long term,_ she figures and nods her smile while he runs aground again _._

He looks at his drink, crinkles the label with his thumb, and pauses long enough for her to begin typing again and occupy the silence to ease the pressure on both of them.

He has another go.  "So... where you from?"

Ah, here we go.  "Australia."

"Mm," he says through a good drag.  "What's that like?"

"Hot."

"Yeah," he nods.  More silence.

Laura stops and looks at him seriously.  "What was that?"

"Sorry?"

"Dude.  Quick pro tip: when someone tells you they're from 'Down Under' and that it's _hot_ , take the bait, yeah?  I mean," - He's smiling now, bouncing a little with his laugh - "what happened? Where were you?"

He sighs, smiling ruefully, and shakes his head at his luck.

"Are you okay?" Laura asks, turning to him properly.  

He's surprised, unable to do much more than raise his eyebrows.

"You just seem... You have flashes of confidence, but... you're okay?"

"Yeah," he breathes in, "I'm just..."

"Had a big day?"

"No, not for weeks," he exhales, resigned, "I've just been... I'm recovering."  

She's listening, but that's all he says.  "Okay, if you say so... "

He musters himself, gunning the starter motor again.  "Do you usually do your work in bars?" he asks.

Laura's feeling charitable, especially for someone so easy on the eyes, and pretends it's all been seamless.  "Well, in every new town I go to, I like to find some middle-range bar, park myself on a stool and see what calibre of man I'm attracting at the moment.  Will today be a high self-esteem day?..."  she ponders rhetorically.

"How's it going so far?" he asks, detecting a set-up.

"Haven't got much to work on yet," she looks at him sideways, "just looks mostly."

"Oh?" he leads.

"Which would make me the cockiest bitch in town," she smiles and sips.  

"Ah shit," he laughs, "you're beating me at my own game."

"Well," she takes another sip, "keep swinging.  You'll hit something eventually."  She's almost selling herself as a sure thing and the eye contact twangs between them.  

"What about you?" she asks, "You local?"

"Nope, just visiting, with my brother." He nods at a table behind her and she turns to see a long guy leaning back in a chair, reading by his beer.  He looks up and nods at her, she returns it.  "He's Sam, I'm Dean."

Sam gives the slightest of twitches, checking in, and Dean gives it back.  

"Nice to meet you Dean.  I'm Laura," she says, extending her hand.  

He takes it saying "Very glad to meet you."

"Would you like me to talk about my work? Or something?" Laura asks, closing her laptop. 

"Yeah, sure," he agrees.   _Why not just have a nice conversation, be a nice guy._ He shifts in his seat, trying it on.  "Whatcha writing about?"

"Actually, sorry, fuck _that._ Rubbish idea," she says. "Let me tell you about aaaaall the men who have hit on me since I came here.  That'll be good for a laugh, right?"

That was unexpected, and Dean's not sure if it's going to offer many opportunities for him.  He really wants things to be just... _sexier._  Where the fuck has his mojo gone?   "What happens if you describe a guy who's just like me?"

"Funnier still," she smiles. "The thing is, they all got the memo that confidence is hot, but some of them have no idea that they're _actually_ doing arrogance.  Which is a lot less hot.  But it _is_ hilarious."

"Really?"

So Laura describes guy after guy who tried, bless their hearts, to get in her pants.  Lots of them had been fun, using harmless and upfront one liners - _is that a mirror in your pants coz I can see me in them_ \- and others had used wing men.  One or two had failed flat out by looking over her head whenever he finished talking.  "Since when has 'I'm looking for someone cooler' been appealing?"

"Maybe they're trying to play hard to get?" Dean offers.  

"Well, they perfected that.  They didn't get got."

"What happens at home?" Dean asks. "How do guys hit on girls where you come from?"

"I dunno," she wonders, thoughtfully.  "I just... if you like someone you give them your attention and smile at them a lot.  Dance with them.  Sometimes guys dance _at_ you.  That's hit and miss.  There's definitely a number of dickheads. But otherwise you just, you know, run it up the flag pole and see if they salute," she shrugs.  "Maybe that's just in my little corner of the world."

"That sounds so cute!"  Dean says.  "Where's the fire?! The chase?!"

"It's a lot more successful, or it is with me at least," she smiles.  "This one guy, he insisted I drink what he'd brought over to me, and could _not_ understand why it wouldn't be..."

As they talked, Dean thought between his words.  This is the longest conversation he's had with anyone but Sam since he stopped being a demon.  An curse-driven demon; the antithesis of a human.

A little voice in his head was chatting away, illuminating his consciousness, and soon it dawned on him.  He missed the power.  He missed the aimless, reckless, salivating drive of what he'd had - a black cheque to dominate and end any thing he liked.  He missed the heat and focus, like he could drill himself into a person with his eyes and mind.  He'd felt impervious.  A monolith of fire.  He wasn't impotent now, as such, but he felt weaker, like he was learning to walk again.  It was  _so pathetic_.  This body, this pedestrian common strength was all he had to work with and it was limited.  

But it was safer.  Warmer.  And rested.  And he wasn't without talents...

It was easy for Laura to be confident with him.  He seemed to listen and he laughed, entertained and relaxed.  Her evening's expectations were low.  He didn't really seem up for much, even though she could tell he wish he were.  So she kept telling stories, making him laugh.  As their conversation rolled on - and it really did roll - he started joining in more, feeling less hesitant.  At some point, Laura noticed he'd straightened up, and was looking less and watching more.  Her mouth, her neck.  She paused more often to drink it in.  His smile shifted, his eyes creased differently, he focused on her.  All of a sudden she'd feel self-conscious, but then he'd smile at her in a way that made it melt away.

It was late now, and they'd long ago finished their fourth drinks and a few packs of pretzels. 

"Well, it is abundantly clear now," he explains, "why I was unsuccessful all those times." Dean shakes his head.

"You? Unsuccessful?  Bullshit," Laura says honestly.  "You could do all of those things and still end up on your back."

"What a classy way of putting it," he observes.

"This is the calibre of woman you've attracted tonight, Dean," she says recrossing her legs. "Were you wanting a lady?"

He peers at her, smiling and takes a deep breath.  "Laura, I... I'm kinda coming down off something.  It's left me a bit... I'm stumbling."

"You're doing reeeeally well," she soothes.

"I don't do 'really well', Laura," he says pointedly.  "This, of the few things I can do well, _this_ I usually kill.  Will you be here tomorrow night?"

"I can be," she says.

"I'd like to see you again."

"Sure, you want my number?"

He hands over his cell and she types it in, pranks her phone.

"You know, for the record," she says, handing it back, "you're lovely.  I don't mind that this is all we did tonight... I'd be happy to do it again tomorrow."

"Lovely?!" he winces in disgust.

Laura shrugs half mockingly, shit-stirring.

"No," he says, just a few clicks from his regular self. "No, stop it.  Stop."  Dean stands and talks to her candidly.  "Stop being so... _kind_."  She scowls at him.  "Look, Laura... you're hot. And funny, which is just icing, and I'll give you that it's probably exactly what I needed tonight but tomorrow is gunna be different."  He collects his jacket.

"Different how?" Laura asks, suddenly not wanting him to step away.

Deans eyes fix on her lips as he licks his own.  So much is coming back to him, so many options.  When he looks her in the eye he sees her challenge him and for a moment he considers staying, but instead he smiles to himself.

Laura can see right through it to the sort of thing playing in his mind. It's electrifying.

"See you tomorrow." He pulls his jacket on. Sam notices and bookmarks his spot before he stands.  

Laura slides off her stool, noticing the height of his brother, and then realises how damn tall Dean is too.  "See you then," she sighs.

Sam smiles and nods at her as he collects his own jacket and heads for the door, but Dean, after a few steps, turns back.  He cups her face and pulls her in for a kiss.  It's fast and full, and a whole level up from where they were five minutes ago.

He pulls her against him by the waist and the kiss deepens, Dean deftly licking her lips as it rolls between them.  She tastes like cider and salt, and smells of softener, home.

Laura grips onto his jacket and tries to catch everything about the moment - the warmth, the stubble, the intoxicating smell of his skin.  Firm hands, firm everything.  She slips her fingers into his hair, tipping his ear with her thumb, and slides them down to his chin.  

Just as it seems they'll finish, Laura grabs at his head and twists the kiss, tasting him back, lapping his tongue with her own.  

That, right there, was the first twinge.  Like a flashback.  Dean feels that old pull of traction.

As Laura rests back on her heels, she holds his lip in her teeth, Dean bending down a little for her.  She lets go and he looks down at her closed eyes, taking in the shine of her dark hair and the redness of her lips.  "Son of a bitch... I've missed this."

"I miss it already," Laura replies.  She looks up and tries to commit those lashes to memory.

"See you tomorrow," he says again, his voice now gravelly.  

"Fuck," she whispers.  

Dean smiles, in a way that makes her toes curl, as though he has plans.  And he does.

He leaves, Sam waiting for him outside, and Laura stands there, flicked on and buzzing like a live wire.

As they walk to the car, Sam's wondering if the evening had been a success.  "What happened there?"

"What?  You never want to just talk Sammy.  You're such an asshole," Dean stirs.

"Hey, don't get me wrong," Sam defends, "you look like you were having fun.  Really.  But I thought you wanted to just, you know, pick up."

"Nah," he shrugs, getting to the car.  Sam has to get in and wait before Dean can figure out how to explain.  "A one-night-stand is fun and all but... I don't really need some shallow fuck right now. Not too shallow anyway." Anne Marie, amongst others, still stung in his memories.

"Won't get an argument there," Sam replies.  He's been watching Dean baby-step his way through the last few weeks, faking it till he's making it, and hadn't been too sure that he'd find the right kind of fling.

"I'm coming back tomorrow night," Dean adds.

"Right," Sam says, surprised. "Good idea.  She seemed pretty good."

"Well, so far," Dean says, starting the car, "your more her type."  Dean flashes his best shit-eating grin.  "But I'm betting that, by Friday, it'll be me."

Sam laughs, a little stung by the suggestion of a chance stolen.  The few times Dean's been a prick since he was cured, apparently trying to be the old big brother asshat he once could be, it'd had a bitterness Sam chose to let slide.  This was one of those times.

"They're all your type Dean," he replies casually. "My taste it a little more discerning."

"Trust me Sammy," Dean says and, as he's often done after these snide moments, he quickly softens, "you should be jealous.  She's hot and sharp."


	2. Hey baby...

Sam leaned his good arm against the bar beside Laura, bottle of beer in hand, and turned himself toward her.

"Hi," he smiled, "Laura, right?  I'm Sam."

"Dean's brother!" she said brightly.

"Yeah," he smiled and offered a hand.  "We haven't officially met."  He realised, for a moment, that this job was weirdly flirtatious.

She took it and looked behind him, concerned.  

"So my friend over there," Sam indicated to Dean down the bar, "noticed you as soon as he walked in."

Laura saw Dean, who wasn't looking at her, and instantly had to fight back a big, disbelieving, curse-laden grin.  She shook her head and gave in.  "Fuck me," she murmured.

"He's a really nice guy," Sam continued, straight as an arrow.

"Is he?" she played along, collecting herself.

"Oh yeah," Sam confirmed.  "Kind, generous... and brave!  I once saw him get a kitten down from a tree."  

"No kidding? Was it big?"

"The tree?" 

"The kitten."

"Uh, yeah. Huge," he nodded.  "Tree, too."

"Wow," she said.  "That is brave.  Kittens are scary."  She glanced down the bar again to see Dean watching Sam talk.  He looked... like he knew his brother.

"And he is smart," Sam added earnestly.  

"Oh I can tell," Laura said in mock seriousness.  "Like a _fox_."

"A _fox_ ," he nodded, and sipped his beer, "like you.  You're such a fox!"

She almost spit her drink. 

"Because you're smart, right?  You study?" he confirmed innocently.  The slightest smile hinting.  He was enjoying entertaining a new person, a beautiful woman even.  It had been a while since he'd gotten this kind of smile.

"I do study," she nodded deeply, trying hard to pull her own smile into her teeth. "Yes, I study, I research.  Ask me what I study."

"Laura," Sam asked candidly, "what do you study?"

"Attitudes to Shakespeare-"

"Wow, really?"

"-and how opinions to modern versions of those stories-"

"Yeah, yeah."

"-are different to old opinions."

"Yeah. Right. That's fascinating."  He saw Dean, now standing beside her, and raised a finger at him to wait.

"Specifically, the theme of brotherly betrayal..."  she smiled benignly.  

Sam stared at Laura and swallowed.  "...Fascinating."

Dean cleared his throat.  "I could probably help you with that."

They both looked at Sam, expectantly.  

"I think my work here is done," he said and collected his drink.

"See ya, Brutus," Laura waved. 

"Oh that's harsh!" Sam said quietly, and flashed an open smile.  She grinned back.

Dean sighed and settled into the seat with his whiskey.  He had half considered being all seductive and lusty, but it would wait.  He was happy to see her.  There was something refreshing about Laura and he let it relax his forehead and ease his smile.  

"Hello," she said, eyes shining already.

And anyway, he had a plan...  "Hi," he smiled back.    

"A wing man," she stated.  "Gee, that's..."

"Hey, you're welcome," he winked.  She muffled a laugh.

"So," he said, licking his lips, "how was your day?" he asked absently, "you get stuff done?"  Dean promptly looked over her head and across the room, watching for whatever, like he had business. 

"It was good," she answered.  "Quiet."

"Yeah, I closed a few deals," he shrugged.  Laura shook her head at the show, enjoying every minute.  He glanced at her, "Whatcha got planned for tomorrow?" and went back to perusing the room, playing aloof.  

"Not much," she swizzled the straw in her drink.  "Keep an eye out for that tall guy.  He was hot."  She took a sip.

Deans eyes snapped to hers and she smiled around her straw.  

"You're not wearing pants," he said plainly, gesturing at her dress.  "I can't do my next line."

"I think you'll find," she began, "my pants are exactly where they should be."

"Not sure we'll agree there," Dean smirked, while Laura tried to figure out where to look.

"So," he began again, "you think I'll find your pants?!  She's confident."  

 _Shit._   She chewed her cheeks.  Smart arse.  "What kind of screwed were you hoping for?"  Dean didn't answer; he just looked at her.  She'd made an effort for him tonight.  Yesterday she'd been cute in t-shirt and jeans, with her short shoulder-length hair pinned back.  But now it was wavy and shined, and fell around her face.  She'd done her make-up with smoky eyes and she was wearing a nice dress and heels.  Tonight she looked hot.

"Your brother called me a fox," she deflected.

"That's coz he has eyes.  Let's talk about your pants some more..."

Soon they were ordering another drink.  At some point the flirt-fest calmed a little and they slipped into actual conversation.  Sort of.

Dean had asked what she and Sam had talked about and Laura explained how she'd buttonholed him.  "Hoho," Dean had laughed, "that is excellent."  Nothing sweeter than proving Dean right about something.  

"But I lied," she admitted.  "I'm not studying Shakespeare."

"You lied!" Dean clapped his hands together. "Even better!  So what are you studying?"

"Geology," she admitted, "but that's all I'm saying.  Please, _please,_ don't even try talking about how anything is _rock hard,_ or _volcanic,_ or _like lava_."

"Why would I talk about lava?"

"You'd be amazed. Just... skip it," she insisted, finishing her drink, "I will _run_."

"Got it," Dean nodded, "no talk about rocks... What about magnetic fields?"

Laura, looking straight at him, suddenly yelled "CHECK!"  He burst out laughing.  "CHECK PLEASE!"  She gave him a minute.

"My god...  Okay," she shook it off, "one more?"

"Nope," Dean said, slapping he bar, "I think we should go."

She stared at him a second, not sure how to interpret this turn of events.  It was barely 9:30.  "Okay, um, where?"

"Well, I'm sharing a motel room with my brother at the moment, but I'm not interested sharing your company-"

"Aw, and I was hoping for two firsts in one night!"

"-wait, first what?"

"One night stand," she answered simply.  

He stared at her. Goddam, things just get better. But... "What's the other first?"

"That would involve sharing your brother," she said, and looked into the middle distance, pretending to imagine that...

"Let me throw up on the way to your car, 'kay?" he said, standing from his stool.

"Wow, don't protest too much."

They made their way to the bar door, via Sam's table.  

Laura shrugged at him.  "I'm sorry Sam.  He won't share so I had to choose.  Next time, yeah?" she said wistfully, then stood back to let the brothers talk.

"What did you guys talk about?" Sam asked Dean as he sat by him, clearly not getting comfortable.

"Nothing you need to know about tonight.  Hey, don't worry about me till lunchtime," he said and went to leave.

"Lunchtime!" Sam was surprised, again, "Really?  Dean... if you want a fling don't you think-"

"Sam," Dean closed his eyes and shook his head a little, "I did flings.  Before.  I did them a lot.  Hell, they weren't even flings, they were quick fucks and fuck yous.  And she's nice, you know?  I don't need a relationship, I just need to remember how I can _not_ be an asshole to women."

"Sure, yeah," Sam understood instantly, "enough said."

"Unless, of course, she's a monster," he conceded.

"Oh yeah, of course.  Well, in that case, you know, call me," Sam agreed, "we'll share."

Dean slapped him on the shoulder as he left.


	3. Hope

Laura led Dean through the parking lot toward her rental.  As they passed under a streetlight she noticed the profile of a shiny vintage car, black and perfect.  She slowed and nodded at it.  "That's a nice car," she commented, assuming Dean would care to notice.

"Thanks," he answered.

"No! Really?" she stopped walking, impressed. "That's yours?"

"That's my Baby," he said, trying only a little to suppress the pride.

Laura look at it, an idea dawning.  "Can I see the engine?"  Dean looked at her for a second.  "I won't touch it," she added, just in case.

"No, it's not that," he shook his head, taking her hand.  "Of course you can see."  He popped the hood and stood back for her.  The yellow light danced off the metals, shadows and colours making it look almost Christmassy.  He watched her expression, an open-mouthed smile as her eyes trickled over the parts he'd so lovingly polished.

"You know - just go with me for a minute - my mother gave me her sewing machine when I was a kid.  It was already old when she got it.  It's completely metal, weighs a ton, except for a few belts and dial covers.  I can crack the cover and oil it myself, listen to the mechanism, clean it out." She looked at Dean.  "I love watching it work.  I love knowing its sound when its well.  I love that I can take it to the guy and say it needs a new belt, or the compressor's gone, or whatever.  And it's such an amazing feat to get this little thread thrown around a bobbin, just to join fabric.  And then it does it a dozen ways!  It's only just tonight that I can see the common ground with rev heads.  I don't know why it never occurred to me before..."

"Damn, you make me want to watch it," he smiled at her.  "It is rewarding, listening to her purr because I cleaned her up so good."

"Yeah, well," she sighed, "when they're good, every little thing makes a difference."

"Amen," he murmured and looked over at the entrance to the bar and cursed himself for not parking somewhere more discreet.  Hotel room it would be.  

"Sorry," Laura said, "got off track there a bit."

"Hey, talking about my Baby is probably the second most sexy thing we can talk about," he said, looking down at her. "We're not off track in the slightest. I wish we had a day for me to show you round the whole thing," he dropped the hood down, "teach you the basics."

"It'd take more than a day," Laura quipped, "with interruptions."  Dean's mind ran over the same ground as hers - greasy smears, guiding hands, and spending time with two hot machines - he looked almost predatory.  "You touch me," Laura smiled backing away, "and I won't make it to the car."  It took everything Dean had not to snatch her into him as soon as she was in arm's reach.  

Her car stereo had something not painful start up.  "This some homegrown stuff?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," she grinned, "OckerFM, 24/7.  Nothing like a bit of old pub rock to keep me stonin' the crows and flamin' the galahs."

"I barely understood that," Dean shook his head.  "It's no AC/DC, but it'll do."

"Cold Chisel mate.  Get it into ya," Laura drawled, and hoped to God Dean didn't begin regretting taking on the idiot who cranks up the accent in the least sexy way she knows.  [Bow River](http://youtu.be/cFY9TY1Y-0k) was not for the moment.  She paused it and passed him the player "There's some AccaDacca in there.  You choose."  He cruised through the list, skipped passed a few awkward offers - Devil Inside, Freak, paused over I Touch Myself, and finally found You Shook Me All Night Long, but then- 

"We're here."  She pulled into the carpark in front of her hotel and looked over at Dean.  "You still okay?" she checked, because she was nervous.

"I'm just wondering why the fuck anyone thought bucket seats were a good idea," he sighed. "You are too far away."  His smile relaxed her a little.  They got out of the car, Dean collecting her hand, finding that balance between affection and intensity.  Laura's heart raced - 80% for the anticipation, and 20% for the risk.  It had been in the back of her mind:  It seemed like, these days, the most dangerous thing a woman could do was date men.  

They walked through the foyer, Dean first, and as they waited for the elevator her turned to her.  "Okay, Laura?"

"Yeah."

"You seem nervous," he was talking low and steady, like negotiating to disarm her.

"I am nervous," she nodded.  "You are a stranger, to be honest."

"Yes, I am.  Okay, here's the thing," he took her hands in his and looked her in the eye.  "I know you've never done this like this before.  I have done quite a few one night stands.  I... really like them.  And I'm kinda excited to be your first," he admitted.  "I really want you to have a good time."

"So do I," she nodded intensely, "ideally an excellent time."

"Well, I think that's entirely likely," Dean continued, "not least because you are the hottest thing on two legs I've seen in, goddamn, a lifetime at least.  But I'm also pretty confident we both want the same thing...  What can I do to help you relax?"

She thought about the cameras in the foyer, about Sam, about the bartender... Nothing could really keep her safe from Dean, except Dean.  She looked at the ground, at his hands, and tried to think.  

It occurred to him that maybe...  He reached for her chin, lifted her face to his and placed his lips on hers.  It was gentle and smooth, unlike any kiss he'd had in months and months.  He could feel her warmth and closeness - she felt _like_ him, not less than.  He couldn't help but step in and taste her more, feel her hair and enjoy the smell of her, all the aromas now beckoning tones rather than tedious footnotes.  He could map the shape of her lips against his, where their noses touched.  New though she was, he was having flashbacks to warm times.  It even ended with that classic snap.  He opened his eyes, watching her do the same a few inches away - "More."  He obliged, landed back again and tasted her a little.  Tilting the kiss, he barely licked her lip, tickling her, and she opened for him - _opened for him_ \- and took his firm lick along her own tongue.  Noises escaped from them both and, without thinking, his hands collected her head, gently holding her close, so careful to be gentle, as he found her kiss responding in like and his desire not feeling gentle at all.  This undulating rhythm, the savouring, was sweetly human. 

Laura's hands had landed on his forearms, and now reached around his ribs, held onto his torso, and she warmed herself against him.  Dean found the pressure triggering and he broke away, breathing heavily.  "Your room," he looked straight into her.  She couldn't tell if it was a plead or a demand.  "One of us has to hit the button," she uttered.  Dean cleared his throat and turned toward the elevator doors, grasping her hand and lunging at the little triangle in the stainless steal.  Six or seven times should do the job.

Laura's anxiety had shifted sideways.  She was still trembling about what was to come, but Dean's reaction to that kiss was strangely comforting.  It seemed he wanted to enjoy something with her, not only of her, and the more he internally struggled to still himself the better she felt about him.  She gave his hand a squeeze and threaded her fingers through his.

The doors finally opened and they raced each other in, Laura stabbing at her floor button.  It seemed Dean was trusting in their privacy and descended on her, brushing the backs of her arms as he nudged her with his nose.  She breathed heavily, watching him look at her, his lashes flicking up and down.  Upon a kiss, he felt a metal handrail press into her hips.  He slipped his hands down her backside, firmly feeling its shape and Laura could hardly believe her luck that she'd happened upon someone this easy on the eyes and this nice on her arse.  Dean grasped her upper thighs through her dress and lifted her so she was perched on the rail.  She spread her knees so he could be close, arms around his shoulders as he took in her chest and neck, the warmth of his breath unfurling over her.  Dean dragged his fingers from her ear to her cleavage.  "Son of a bitch Laura," he moaned, "how did I walk away from you yesterday?"

She smiled at him, a little breathless.  "How the hell did I let you?" she remarked as she felt his jaw, realised the firmness of his shoulders.  He leaned in and kissed her throat, loving the noise she breathed in response.  He let his tongue introduce his lips to her skin, her pulse, her goosebumps.  Laura closed her eyes to the exquisite, simple pleasure of feeling someone's affection on intimate areas, and tried not to let her mind run off to parallel things just yet:  With his hands high on her thighs, everything below her waist was buzzing in anticipation.

The elevator doors opened.  Laura tried to see, but Dean murmured into her neck "It's not us."  An older couple stepped into the elevator, frowning at her and at Dean's back.  The woman shook her head and tsked loudly as her husband took peeks via the reflective door. Laura was apologising with her eyes but then Dean hummed a little before whispering in her ear "Do we have a jealous audience?"  He kissed her there, hands sliding slowly.

"Mm hmm," Laura confirmed as best she could while she held onto him, her gaze awkwardly locked on that lady.  Laura's brain was running on something primal, and she'd forgotten to be cognisant of how this stranger had shamed her already.  Normally, she wouldn't be shrinking.

"Let's give them something to watch...  Close your eyes and tilt your head back."  Her eyes were already rolling back from his commanding murmur.  It wasn't hard to do what he said.  

He whispered against her ear "Make some noise," and pulled the lobe in with his tongue.  She hummed a little and she heard him tsk at her effort.  "What was that?" he admonished into her hairline.  He came back to look at her, pressing himself against her as he did, then kissed her deeply and hungrily, tongue deep, holding her steady, devouring her and moaning for the show.  Out of habitual proprietary, Laura tried to keep quiet, but it was a struggle she didn't really win.  Dean slipped to her cheek, kissing her gently, pecking to the other side, and slipped the fingers under her thigh perilously close to the elastic.  "I'll be doing that between your legs soon," and flicked a finger against the silk. 

Laura gasped an "Ah!", jumping all over, then thumped her head against the wall, trying to calm herself.  She peeked little and met the older lady glaring, red-faced.  Laura cracked.  "Oh woman!" Laura rolled her eyes, "Either tap in or bugger off!"  Dean laughed in her chest. "Where the hell is our floor?" Laura complained, agitated.

"We missed it," Dean stood straight, "Too busy."

"Shit," Laura breathed.  

"It's okay," he shifted his arms under her seat to relieve her of the shallow rail, "we're going back down."

Laura looked him, both of them smiling lightly, taking each other in.  "Well. I'm the luckiest son of a bitch I know," Dean murmured.

The doors dinged open and he lifted her down to leave.  Once they hit the carpet the woman plucked up the nerve to berate them: "You should be ashamed of yourselves!"  Her husband was fighting to smother a smile.

"What the hell for?!" Laura was defensive as they stepped out.  The woman looked away but her husband's grin broke through.  "Yeah, he knows what I'm talkin' about," she stirred.  Dean tried to lead Laura away but she decided to rub it in a little.  "Met him yesterday, you know," the doors began to close, "haven't even shared a milkshake."

"C'mon crusader," Dean wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her away as she yelled at the closed elevator, "And I'd do it again y' sad old bat!"  

"Jeez, you're a lady when you're pissed," he smiled.

"She should, literally, get fucked.  Prolly fix a lot," Laura said to him earnestly.  "That poor bloke."

"Okay," Dean placated, "where to?"

"Down here, room 634," she answered. "...Kinda redirected the heat a little there."

"Misdirected, I think.  Next time maybe just kiss me in front of them, yeah?"

"Damn!" she said, changing direction, "Let's go find them a do that.  Pash on by the poker machines."

"No," Dean scolded, "retribution later," grabbing her around the waist and hoiking her off the ground.  "Justice now."  Laura was almost embarrassed at how electrifying this was but it was too much fun.  He put her down in front of her door so she could let them in with her card. She unzipped her pocket and pulled it out, hoping her hands wouldn't shake too much, but with this hulking, huffing, man behind her, his hands on her waist and his face in her hair line, she cursed the idea of matching up a slip of plastic with a 2mm gap. Laura stabbed the card thrice before Dean paused for her and she knew he was watching her guide the card in with two hands... "I think, in the future," she said quietly, "I'll be able to just throw it at the door." As the lock released, Dean reached around and opened the door for them, welcoming her into her own room. "I don't think the guys who design those things remembered 'urgency'... How you doin'?"

She couldn't take a breath deep enough. "I'm good."


	4. Kindness

Laura made her way into the hotel room, flicking on all the lights, and hung a right into the kitchen space, its counter opening into the softly lit main room. "You want a drink?" she asked, hoping for occupation.

"Sure," Dean replied, "whatever's going."  He leaned against the doorway while she opened a tall square bottle.  "I didn't pick you for a whiskey drinker."

"Well, I went through Kentucky and thought it only right," she explained, "Did I pick a good one?  It's not that old."

Dean tried his share, resisting the urge to down the whole thing at once.  In fact every urge was being reined back a notch.  "Mm!" he looked at the glass, "that is just fine."

It would've been a stare down, had they not been so occupied with their own views.  Laura watched him over her own amber liquid.  Of the harder liquors she usually only drank tequila, but the burn she felt tonight would be forever associated with something far and away more delicious.  Dean watched her, eyes and mouth both drinking.  He took his time, looking at her in a different light.  Laura couldn't decide what to watch - those rippling forearms or suggestive eyebrows. The package he was had suddenly become altogether intimidating in this fluorescent space.

He finished it off under her supervision and suggested "You wanna show me around?" 

"Yeah!" she downed her last drop, unconsciously displaying her neck and décolletage.  His mind flashed over more possibilities - flipping her against the counter now, then up against the fridge...  Laura brushed passed him, flicking off the kitchen brightness as she went back out to the mid-sized main room.  The bathroom was at the end of the counter.  "So, this is the bedroom slash living room... slash dining area..." _Yeah, we could actually see this from the kitchen..._ "That's the bathroom," she pointed lamely as she turned, Dean now close.  She cleared her throat as his heat wafted over her skin.  He was ravenous over her body, but when his gaze made it to her face, he softened and smoothed his palms over her arms to comfort her.  She noticed it and appreciated the effort to lead, rather than push.

"Well, fuck," Dean looked down at her body, "Laura this dress is excellent, but it has to come off."  He looked her in the eye, breathing deeply, "I wanna see you."

Laura's eyebrows tweaked hesitantly, but she took the comment at face value and didn't reply.  Dean lowered himself to get his hands under the skirt, sliding them up the sides of her thighs, and brought his face to her belly, dragging the pressure up her as he rose, Laura's shoulders almost rising in unison.  That action in the lift had been safe, capped by time and law, but there were no limits here.  She stood still and tried to run with it, but was feeling disappointingly shy.  When his face got into her cleavage, he had most of the fabric at her waist, and she flinched.

"You first," she choked out.  Dean looked at her, politely pausing everything.  "I take off one garment and I'm practically naked," she shrugged.  "You first."

"Okay," he gave in easily.  He began calmly, and stopped.  "Do you wanna do this part?"

Laura started at the button he'd already undone.  There was only a t-shirt beneath it.

"Yeah," she smiled and shrugged a little, "I probably should."

"Okay," he said, and let his hands fall by his sides.  Laura worked through the buttons, not rushing, and pushed the fabric aside.  She untucked the tails, Dean's patient face following her as she reached around him, watching the lines of her, and she slowly slid the whole thing off his shoulders, then his arms, and let her fingers drag down his forearms to his hands.  

Only a t-shirt.

He held her fingers a moment, but she let them go, running her touch back up his arms, palming the bulk below his elbows, ignoring the angry scar on his right, along the sensitive paleness inside them, and then, higher, she tucked a finger under the hem of a sleeve and slipped her hand around for a firm hold.  He watched her take it in, letting her find her feet in these moments.  She looked at his chest, his stomach, and actually visualised what was beneath it in the hope that she wouldn't be too thrown when it was revealed.  He finally leaned down a little and asked "Anything else?"

Nothing about him was casual.  He was being kind, and patient, but his conviction, the smooth pressure in his tone, was riveting.  He was leading her down this path with a _very_ firm hold.  Later, Laura would thank every god she knew of for that: if he'd conceded an inch she would've lost her nerve.

"Shoes," she said quietly, "and socks."

Dean sat on the end of the bed and toed off his boots, peeled off his socks and then watched her simply step out of her high heels.  "I know I seem hesitant," she explained, "but I'm not backing out at all-"

"Hey, don't apologise," he cut in, "this is good."

Her face twitched _Come on_  and he smiled wholly, reassuringly, and stood to come back to her.  What better way to feel human again than to be a teacher for the night?  All he had to do was find... her...

Getting his hands around her waist again, he ground out "I want to rip that dress of you."  Laura was distracted by how well his arms muscles were showing but still responded "Really?" slightly bemused.

"Yes. And I want you to rip this shirt of me, too," he was nuzzling her now, the wall only inches behind her.  Laura giggled lowly.  He went on:  "And when we get down to skins you're going to moan for me." She was wide eyed now, incredulous.  He rolled his forehead against hers.  "I'm going to make you so glad-" she bit her bottom lip "-you decided to let me-" she put her hand over her mouth, "-fuck you what is wrong?" he asked steadily.

"Nothing," she muffled behind her hand.

"What?" he repeated, neither annoyed nor angry, nor surprised.

She slipped her hand to her throat.  "I've just never had anyone talk dirty to me before." He looked almost pitiful. Maybe pissed?  "Sorry," she apologised, "it's a bit... disconcerting.  At first."  She did her best to suppress a smile.  

"You think this is ridiculous?" he almost stated.  

 _God I've defied the headmaster._ "No!" she defended. "Oh, kind of."  She tried to look sorry.   _Do people really do this?_

"You think dirty talk is a waste of time?" he asked.

Laura was beginning to worry that she'd really offended him, and was suddenly solemn.  "I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean-"

"Laura, I'm only being honest," he nudged his chest into hers, pushing her back against the wall, eye contact locked.  She grunted a little at the action and closeness, still a little embarrassed. "Don't you want to know how I feel?" he pressed himself against her.  
_G'Lord, that's how he feels._ "Dean, of course I-"  
He firmly dragged his hand down her front, from her shoulder, over her breast, as he said "I find you so goddam sexy," turning his fingers south at the waist and kept going.  
"Dean, I didn't mean to-" he pressed his hand onto her mound  "- Ah!" and she couldn't help but close her eyes for a moment.  
Dean quickly slipped down again, hand ducking under her skirt, sliding his reach up her inner thigh, and wrapped the other arm around her waist, bending her from a wall a little. "I really do want-"  his was face in hers, relentless, daring her to argue.  
"to feel you-" He grasped her silk-covered vulva entirely, fingers by her entrance.    
She closed her eyes again.  "Dean" she whispered, her hand on his forearm.  
"-drip down my fingers," he squeezed.  
"Oh shit!" she gasped over his words, smacking a hand onto the back of his neck. Knowing instinctively that she was going with him, he slipped his hand behind the fabric.  
"-clench around me," diving into the wetness, he curved his fingers under and inward.  
"-oh shit, Dean-" she talked over him again.  
"-and forget where you are,"  deeper still, dropping his shoulder for the angle.  
"-okay," she apologised.  His thumb flicked back and hit that switch.  "Ah!"  she buckled under him, head against the wall.  
"because you are too-" he thrusted and her throat ached noisily "-goddam hot-" and again, she moaned "-to not be-" again, taking her weight, "-satisfied tonight."

They breathed heavily together.  He whispered, "Go with me," clandestine, and dropped his tone even lower. "Was I wrong?" he challenged, pumping again, now curling his fingers.  
"Ugh!" Laura answered, teeth clenched, brow furrowing on that spot he'd found. "No!"  
"You gonna keep me from sharing my feelings?" he angled his face to keep her from hiding her own in his neck.  
Laura shook her head through closed eyes and ragged breathing.  "No, Dean," she swallowed, "you can be honest."  
He thrust again, bending into it. "You still think dirty talk is silly?" and again, twice, hitting that spot ferociously, making her cry out each time.    
Laura dug her fingertips into him.  "Oh, shit," she breathed, "No, I'm sorry... You're right."

Dean had her weight by her ribs and two merciful fingers. He looked down at her and how she was leaning her whole mind on the heat he held.

"Open your eyes?" he requested.  She looked at him and breathed.  He whispered, "Fuck me, you look gorgeous," and she could only smile - only just - before he relaxed a little and asked once more.  "I'm right about what?"

Laura hummed a laugh as he softened his fingers and rolled his hand under her, the current pulling back a little.  "You were right," she puffed, trying her legs again, "that dirty talk is worthwhile."  

"Prove it," he pulled his fingers away, resting his hand on the silk again and letting her echo her hips against his palm.  "What do you think I want to hear?"

Laura pressed her lips together and hummed, working her mind away from the gap he'd left, absently slipping her palm over his forearm, trying to refocus.  "That...  Hmm..." she breathed.

"What should we do next?" He didn't want to let up an inch.

"We should get that damn t-shirt off you," she said, grabbing at it.  He smiled crookedly, "Give me a hand?"

"No," she said firmly, "take it off," and pushed him off her.  He broke into a grin, "Atta girl," and pulled at the hem as he stepped back.

"Slower," she instructed.  

 _Well damn._ Dean locked his eyes on her as she leaned back, her hands flat behind her hips, and he slowly drew the fabric up his torso.  She watched as the ripples and curves of him were slowly revealed, her imaginings before doing nothing to steam the stun or want.  She pressed herself against the wall.  He'd bunched it up to his armpits, lats flaring, and as he drew the hem up his face, his vision obstructed, he heard "Turn around."  Dean let out a short breath and did as he was told.  

Laura watched his back work, great planes of muscle undulating, as the last of the fabric lifted off him, his arms dropping.  He turned back to face her, way too soon for her liking, and threw the shirt against the wall beside her.  "Okay-"

"Pants," she demanded.  He paused to gauge her determination.  From the look on her face, the slightest of tight pouts and a piercing gaze, it seemed pretty fucking solid.  He felt it safest to go the long game.  

"You want me to turn around?" he stirred.

"No," she answered, and clenched her jaw. 

_Better get pantsing..._

Very shortly, Dean stood there in only boxer briefs, and waited. She broke her stare and looked at the tattoo on his chest, his thighs and legs; best he could tell, she skipped the fabric altogether.

"Okay," he put a line under that, "your turn.  And you'd better go slow."

Laura didn't realise how deep a breath she'd taken, but it took forever to leave her as she bent to collect the edge of her skirt.  She tried to match his speed, just to be fair, as she dragged it up her thighs, watching him take in the skin, the length.  She tried not to speed up or pause when she felt the colder air on her upper thighs and only jumped a little when he said "Slower," of course, so  _centimetered_ the black cotton over the triangle of silk and lace.  It was navy, with thin red ribbon, and she hoped to hell he liked them because she thought they were as cute as fuck.

Dean moaned, and put his hands on his hips.  Upon revealing her hip bone she almost paused, and he pointed at her "Don't you stop, goddamit."  So she kept going, as slowly as she could.  At her waist she adjusted to cross her hands over, unconsciously shifting her weight and wiggling her hips.  His teeth released his lip on a whispered "Fuck" and she kept at it, shimmying a little, praying it doesn't get stuck, having no idea how she looked at that moment.  Soon the dress was off and she dropped it to the ground.  "Mother of Fuck," Dean breathed, "Laura, that underwear is hot as all hell."

"Thanks," she smiled a little smile.

"What do you _do"_ he asked, "for that body?"

"Oh, uh," Laura looked down at herself, "good genes, mostly... and I dig a lot of holes."

Instantly, his mind popped her down in a dug-out grave, mud-smudged and sweaty...  She spoke again to fill the silence.  "I'm a bit lop-sided though.  I keep forgetting to change arms on the shovel."  She held them out straight, toward the ground, and looked at her upper muscles casually.

"You look pretty even," he said.

She raised her elbows level with her shoulders saying  "It's a bit easier to tell-" and realised she was about to flex for the bastard.  "Hey! Heyyyyy I see what you did there," she pointed at him.

"Aaaaw, almost," he admitted, hands open.  "We coulda compared!"

"Yeah, your arms and my thighs maybe," she said dryly.

"Is that how you do it?  Your lucky, lucky colleagues," he rued.  They smiled their crooked smiles at each other until he twitched an upward nod  "Turn around?"

Laura laughed a bit, and spun a stiff full circle, hands open.

"No, I meant turn around."

She was a little hesitant at the instruction, but followed it, peeking over her shoulder at him as he came closer.  "I will not be deleting your number," he mumbled.  He lightly dragged a hand of fingers from her shoulder to her hip, then turned his hand to slide them all over the rise of her cheek, slipping his other arm around the front of her waist.  She revelled in the warmth of him against her side, his breath on her back, even the hair of his legs against hers.  He squeezed her bottom gently - "Dear God. That ass." - before sliding both hands up her sides and along her arms.  She'd rested her hands against the wall, by her shoulders, and now he lightly led them by the wrist to somewhere above her head, pressing them against the wallpaper there as an instruction.

Dean brought his palms back down her skin, letting his fingers ripple over the soft curves - too firmly to tickle, not hard enough to threaten - all the way down to her hips, and rested them over the crescent bone there.  He tilted her gently, forcing her to step her feet back, her form now presenting her ass more pertly than she'd ever normally offer.  "You doin okay?" he whispered.  "Yeah," she nodded, "but kinda barely keeping it together."

"What do you mean?" he said gently, thumbs stroking her hip.  "In a good way?"

"Yeah," she said, resting her head against the wall and closing her eyes.  "In a good God way."


	5. Generosity

Dean rested against the wall beside Laura, his fingers running down the tall muscles either side her spine.  She peaked at him over her arm and watched him kiss her shoulder, her arm.

"Do all your one night stands end up here?" she asked him.

"No," he said, speaking easily and honestly. "They're usually wham-bam affairs.  Last time I met something like this I was in your place."

"Against the wall?" she asked, almost disbelieving.

"Yep," he recalled the evening, "Oh, I was so wired. I got owned.  But I'm not interested in doing that to you.  Not a first-timer." He ran the back of his hand along her arm.  "I meant what I said before.  I want you to answer when I call."

"Damn," Laura drawled dryly, "that maybe the most romantic thing a quick fuck could ever say.  Kiss me y'bastard."

"Hey, I'm no quick fuck, sweetheart.  I'm planning on exhausting myself over you," he looked at her curved lips, feeling drawn to them as she'd asked.  But he compromised and kissed her ear, her neck, hands running over her in a show of affection and care.  It was lovely.  "Dean," she pleaded, "please kiss me."

He pulled up, and held a finger against her mouth to quieten.  "Not those lips, not yet."

Under cover of her arm, Dean felt Laura opened her mouth, lapped her tongue around his finger and pulled it in to bite the pad, more deftly that she knew she could.  Dean groaned against her, unconsciously grinding himself a little, but slipped his hand to her jaw instead and regrouped.  "You ever been spanked?" he asked casually, restarting their little conversation.

Laura breathed deeply, watched him carefully. "Once," she answered, "it was terrible."

"Oh no.  Why?"

"He hit me really hard."

"Asshole," he sounded thoroughly pissed at her passed lover, clenching his jaw.  "The jerk was doin' it wrong."  He ran his hand over her bottom again, tracing the lacy edges of the panties.  "I bet you wrote off the whole idea after that?"

"Oh yeah," she confirmed, "I did not think I would like it ever again."

"'Did not think?'" he repeated. "That's a bit past tense."

Laura watched still, measuring the moment.  "I trust you a lot more than I trusted him."

If only she knew what he was now made of, the urge behind his smile, the parts of his sum.  She interrupted, "Why would you want to hit someone anyway?" testing the waters.

"It shouldn't be hitting," he rubbed more firmly, making her pulse speed up, "I've hit people and it ain't that.  It's spanking.  And you do it," he smiled deliciously, "because they've been naughty."

Laura laughed a little, the tenor of his voice shaking some very specific nerves, and dropped her face.  "Well, generally I'm against corporal punishment."

"'Generally?'" he copied again.  "'Didn't think'? Gorgeous, I suspect you're wondering what you're missing."

Laura peered at him now, no reply at hand, trying to figure if he'd actually caught her out.

"Have you been naughty?" he asked for her admittance, balancing his tone precisely between playful and a little over six foot of buckled down heat.

She pulled both lips between her teeth, dimpling her cheeks, unable to imagine what was really coming.  "Well, that's the problem, I think," she dared, "I've always been so good."

His hand came down on her light but fast, low on her buttocks, her wetness now staining the silk.  The shock of the noise, the mix of pleasure and pain so quickly gone... Laura had no idea what noise she'd made.  

Dean leaned into her ear and said crisply "For lying."

It took her a some seconds to register what she'd felt, her mind reeling.  She looked at him hopefully, "You don't think I'm good?" 

"Oh baby, it's not that I don't think you're good, it's that I know you've been bad." It'd be cheesy as all hell if he didn't have so much conviction.

"How do you know?"

"You lied to my brother, for one."  Every time he spoke, she was processing to navigate the doublespeak and return a backhand.  

"That's only my second lie," she defended.  He smacked her again, a little harder, and she realised the impact over her core was being felt from coccyx to cleavage.  "O-ho God," she breathed.

"For the impertinence," he explained.

Something in Laura slipped.  She'd been only slightly aware of the control she had here, how her behaviour triggered his, but she felt the act of spanking itself so condescending she was having trouble separating the feeling from the fact.  She couldn't say where her next decision came from, maybe some forgotten rotten memory too blurry to speak up.  "Two lies and an argument," she summarised, "impertinence is all you've got."  In experienced though she was, Laura knew that was no way for the sub to talk.

Her words, the slight quaver in them, raised a flag in Dean's mind; she didn't feel in control.  He scrutinised her defiant face for fear, calling on all his experiences to spot it.  "You're right," he went for safety and longevity, "the only reason for me to keep going is if you want me to." He held off any healing intimacy yet and spoke plainly and calmly.  "Do you want me to do it again?"

She breathed through her nose, her gaze upon him so intense he almost broke.  His palm touched her belly as he whispered "I got you," and she opened her mouth to ease the emotion.

"Yes," she said firmly, just to see if she could stand it.

"Yes ma'am," he said obediently, and smacked her as perfectly as he could.  She threw her head up, moaning at the sensation and how her core throbbed in need, knees threatening to unlock.   Dean rubbed circles on her stomach as he asked "What did you think of your conduct in the elevator?"

"I think," Laura began, her mind's eye now standing back to see the the present moment, particularly the man who seemed ready to back down or comfort her at a mere weakness of conviction. The perspective clicked everything in place.  "I think I was very tolerant."

Dean recognised the direction in her tone, and walked with it. "You could've given that woman a heart attack, the way you gasped for me."

"Her heart should've attacked her a long time ago... she's too young to be such a sad old cow."

Dean tsked at her, "Don't be mean," he scolded, "and we're talking about you." He noticed her worked her legs a little, trying to press where there was only fabric.  "We should be talking about you," she muttered.  

"Excuse me?" Dean almost laughed at her audacity. Clearly she was getting impatient.

She raised her head to look at him, provoking him - "If we're talking about who should be punished for elevator conduct, it should be you," - and watched his pupils dilate in a second.

The sting she felt barely rated a mention against the pleasure.  That knock resonated over her and upon every ragged breath she tried to drag the feeling across her body again.

Dean could barely keep his noises coherent.  "I was generous," he dragged his teeth against her shoulder, "and thoughtful."

"You corrupted me," she panted, "and still do." He gripped her tight, wound up by her defiance, and smacked her again.  Her jaw jutted out as she moaned, rocking into the wall.  "You should be careful what you say, considering where you are," he warned, himself beginning to fray as he rubbed her exposed skin.

Laura looked at the wall, knowing what was coming, and spoke anyway.  "I know where I am: I'm where you should be."

He whispered _Jesus Christ_ into her shoulder before coming down on her one last time - Laura calling out and flinched all over, the pain teetering on too much, her breath aching from a dropped jaw - and he pressed his hand against her seat.  "Goddamn you Laura," he moaned into her, finally lending mind to his own ache and drive, not daring to touch anything right then.  He kissed her back in thanks for things she couldn't know: to be so strung out on her experience, this practically harmless pretending, was such a comfort.  He was so relieved to be interested in her pleasure and assurance, and not be teased by her pain like he had with recent others.

"You're right," he murmured against her back. "Let me make it up to you.  What can I do?"

Laura sucked on her own saliva, swallowing and panting still.  "Uh," she dropped her head, "kiss it better."

He wrapped his arm under her ribs from beside her, giving her the tightest squeeze he could manage, pressed his mouth to her ear to kiss and bite.  He held firm as she ground her head against his, before whispering hoarsely "Whatever you want." 

Laura hummed again, still coming down from the episode.  "Dean," she said quietly, "I don't want to hold his much longer."

"Don't worry, baby," he settled in, "me neither."  He knelt behind her, knees outside her feet, and she could feel his breath on the back of her thighs as he tucked his fingertips into the waistband of her underpants.  He slipped them down so slowly she couldn't measure it. She listened to him groan at the sight revealed.  No one, ever, had revelled in the possibilities of a night together with her, not like this.  She closed her eyes and waited for him to do as he pleased.

"Sweet merciful Heaven, Laura," he moaned as he looked at her now bared.  He sat back on his heals for a moment, committing this privilege to memory.  He blew cool air over the skin freshly reddened, and ran his fingertips over her legs and hips.  "So gorgeous... I'll say it again: I am one lucky son of a bitch."

"You shouldn't speak that way about your mother," Laura commented, but her words were caught short when his breath hit her low lips, the swollen softness.  He reached out his tongue to taste the shine, and she tried to only breathe.  Again, he licked her, just dipping past the surface.  "Mmm.  Laura, baby, I'm gonna try and go slow, but I'm probably lying."  

Before she could even comment she felt the warmth, the firmness and the damn articulate form of his face against her.  She gasped and mewled for it, holding still as best she could, as he licked, tasted and sucked on her. Oh shit the sucking was special.  First the depth of his tongue, then the reach of it to the front, and his gently rocking chin.  Laura dragged her arms down the wallpaper, trying not moan too hard, bending to give him further reach. Those lips practically kissed him back.  He held her legs firmly, then changed position, nudging his knees between her feet and kicking them apart.  Laura started to quietly curse and pray as the sweet and light attention slowly washed away the stung heat. Her heavy eyes caught a glimpse of him between her feet, abs engaged, that gorgeous throat and jaw reaching for her, arms and hands holding her close to him.  She saw his fingers approach where his chin was working and braced herself, expecting a merciless onslaught.  He touched her, slipping along her folds, making her jolt to her thighs, but suddenly stopped.  "Nope," was all he said.  

He ducked his head under her, crawling through as she made sad sighing sounds, and turned up, a breathless wet smile plastered on his face.  Then he noticed her bra and said "Aaw, hey! Hey girls! Sorry," he cupped one and kissed the heaving flesh above the fabric, then the other, "I've neglected you," he ran his hands over the form of her, "both of you.  I'm sorry." His kisses worked up her chest, into her neck, pushing her away from the wall to standing.  Laura let her arms hang over his shoulders and she sighed into the relief.  He kissed her throat, the dip in her neck, moaning as he ran his hands over her again and she leaned into him.  As his lips found hers he mumbled "Hey beautiful."  "Hey gorgeous boy," she replied between them.  He ran his fingers into her hair, rolling her for his own access and hungrily kissing her, for all her sweetness.  

Dean bent down, hugging the tops of her thighs, and carried her to the bed behind her as they kissed.  They flopped down and he slipped a strap off her shoulder, then the other, and she helped by reaching under herself to unclasp the bra.  As soon as they were free, he shamelessly grabbed and massaged both breasts, helping them into his mouth, moaning around the generous licks.  Laura just watched him go at it, hands falling on him wherever, thoroughly enjoying having him ravish her as she rested, a film of sweat cooling her body.  He looked up at her intensely, and she couldn't look away, not even to notice one hand move south as he came up for a slamming kiss, his fingers paused at her entrance again, palm rolling pressure over her.  She moaned into the kiss, her hands landing on his shoulders, expecting to caress and wind, but then he pinched her nipple, making her jump, and _drove_ his fingers into her.  She gasped and frowned against his kiss, "Oh! God! Dean!" as he rocked into her pelvis.  She grasped at him as he ruthlessly went for that soft patch, fast working her into a desperate mess.  He eased off on the brutal pace, collecting her wrists once again in his spare hand, and planted her hands on the bed head's rail.  He pecked the odd kiss over her face as he spoke, "You let go of that, and I stop."  "No," she pleaded, "Dean-"  No one had done this to her before.

"I will stop cold," he promised with a solid full kiss and began to work his way down her body, greeting her breasts again before settling over his project.

"No, please," Laura begged, "I want you."

"You'll get me baby," he slipped a firm grip onto her hip.

"I want to come with you," she was praying to the ceiling now.

"You will," he sighed, "later, and you'll come for me now."

"No, Dean," her tone was so pitiful, he almost gave in, "I want to hold you in my hands."

"Don't let go sweetheart," he reminded and descended into her throbbing, saturated folds, licking at her unravelling knot, reclaiming the speed in seconds.  Laura's cries were soon wordless, and Dean sucked on her nub hickey-hard, hitting that spot every time. Her mind came down to just his fingers and mouth and...

Dean felt her hands pulling his hair and realised after about three beats, sadly, he had to stop.  He looked up at her, a gentle kiss upon her before he lifted his head, fingers reluctantly receding.  "What's wrong?" she puffed.

"You let go," he looked at her in surprise.  

"I forgot!" she gasped.  "Dean, don't stop!  It's good!"

"Yeah but," he knelt back on the bed, "you let go."

"What?!" Laura cried, leaning on her elbows as her chest heaved.  "Please Dean, ugh," she squirmed, "it's too good to stop..." Then she accidentally got a little shitty: "They're your rules, you know.  Change them!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, pouted, and put his hands on his hips, very tempted to punished her till dawn, but then...

She so wished she could just take it or leave it, but there wasn't an atom in her body that wasn't watching what he would do next.  Everything in her was pointing to her crotch, it's infuriating inertia.   "Come on baby," she sat up shakily, splayed in the hope it beckoned to him, and held his hands, "are we really going to wrap it up here?"

"Here's what's gonna happen," he said, snatching her wrists firmly. "You are going to hold onto that rail until I say you can let go." He crawled over her, replacing her hands above her. "And if you let go..." he trailed off.

"What?" Laura asked breathlessly.

He tried to think of a good punishment she wouldn't want, or a retraction he wouldn't miss... "Damn," he muttered, trying not to smile.

Laura broke into a grin and almost laughed, but he finally had an idea. "Wait... Oh yes," he smirked. "You let go before you're done, and I'll put you over my knee and spank you soundly."

Laura opened her mouth to argue or plead, but closed it.  He kissed her again, unblinking, and steadily dragged two heavy fingers at an unbreaking pace as her breathing quickened: Over the skin down her sternum, forcefully enough to pull on her belly button, and she writhed as he pushed between her aching lips and slowly, savagely, rammed over her nub and into the cushiony wetness inside, her twingeing moans muffled.  He paused there, and placed his thumb squarely on her clitoris as he sucked her bottom lip away.  "Over. My. Knee," he reminded her, and then disappeared from her view.

His face was there in moments, nibbling around his thumb, but nothing else moved.  The pressure she felt on her clitoris grew and grew and Laura felt herself withdraw into the mattress, anticipation building.  He pressed, precisely, on the peak of it and then, just as she thought it would tip over into something unbearable, his thumb slipped down off the button, an exquisite zap down to her thighs, and he began.  Everything, everything was too slow, but she couldn't pick a thing to focus upon.  As Dean explored and worked, Laura buried her face in her arm.

"You got an opinion about this?" Dean asked, hands doing their own things.  Laura could only moan in response.  "C'mon," he looked at her, "tell me what's good."  She grunted again and answered, "All of it."  "Be specific," he demanded, pinching her nub lightly.  She cried out a little, her leg involuntarily bouncing on the bed.  "What about this," he asked, scissoring inside her, "that good."  She moaned gently with it, "Mmmm, that's good."

"What about here?" he asked licking broadly between her lips.  "Ohhhhhyes," she said, arching her back off the bed. "That's very good."

"Do you prefer licking, or sucking?" he said, planting a firm pulling kiss over her.  She gasped, her knees coming up, "Oh, shit," she breathed.  His fingers were pumping steadily now, like a bass beat.  "They're both very good," she puffed.

"Which do you prefer?" he asked, then licked, then kissed, then licked, then kissed building strength.  "Aah! Ah! Oh, fuck! Dean!" her head was off the pillow now, "I don't know!"

"Hmmm, you're a lot flimsier than I thought," he mused.  He coulda sworn he heard a quiet _Fuck off_ , from up there.

Then, of course, he went back to that spot of hers, just once, deep inside, but not before asking "What about here?" and pinned her with it.  "UghGodThat," she curled and panted, "that is also very good."

"Good," he said, wrapping his arm under her waist, "it's my favourite too."  Adding a third finger, he aimed for that spot, slowly gaining speed, watching the curves and dips of her undulate with the give and take, the beautiful horizons, her voice rising with the frequency.  Within seconds he found her pulling on him, her grip on the bed head fighting his own on her waist.  He held on tight and pumped and pumped and when she said "No! Ugh! God, Dean, please! Too much!" he slowly placed his lips between hers, swirled around and around, a long lick, then sucked her high and flicked her with his tongue, once, twice, three times, in time with his arm.  Laura's moan rolled into a shuddering cry as she shook from ribs to knees, Dean feeling her quake under him and around his fingers.  

He'd never seen anything like it.  If he'd had a hand free he would've checked himself to see if he'd come too.  He watched her aching noises, her body flushing red and sweaty in different places, and a fresh wetness slipped over his knuckles as they slowed.  With the weight of only his hand over her mound, he let her roll herself against him, slowly bringing down her pitch, pace and pulse, and came up to lay beside her.  He ran his fingers through her hair, and waited for her to open her eyes.


	6. Compassion

Laura breathed the undiluted bliss of her post-orgam buzz.  She waited for the feeling to come back to her hands and below the knees. She felt Dean's fingers in her hair and his hand over her tingling centre and opened her eyes to see... _Yup, still alive.  Still good._   He let her have as much time as she wanted.

"You know," she sighed, "I think it's going to be just women for me, from now on."

"I highly recommend it," Dean replied. "Why the change?"

"Coz you've ruined me for other men," she smiled at him.  "Look at me.  I'm ruined."

"You look fairly improved to me."  He shifted nearer.

"Well, those poor boys will suffer by comparison," she muttered.  "Speaking of suffering... what are we going to do with you?"

Dean's eyebrows went up, unable to make eye contact, as he helplessly visualised what the answer could be.  "Tell me," Laura placed a hand on his cheek, "tell me exactly and I'll do my best."

"You seem fairly spent there," Dean said, running his fingers over her chest, a little rueful of his performance.  "We can wait, have a nap-"

"What?! _No!_ "

_Shit, okay, she's awake._

"No!  Dean, no if I fall asleep I'll be done till dawn."  She rolled to face him. "Didn't we already discuss how you should be allowed to be honest?"

"That's true," he recalled, "but I'm not sure you're up for what I want."  The evening so far hadn't helped him predict what would be next.  

"Does it involve me standing?" she checked, half honest.

"Sometimes," he said, running a finger down her jaw line while his eyes jumped around the room, mapping out his wishes...  but he took too long.

"Okay," she huffed mockingly, "you lay there and have your regrets," she got up off the bed, "I'm going to get cleaned up.  Ni-night."

Dean took the bait, jumping off the bed and grabbing her arms.  With no intention of getting his throbbing erection knocked about, he wrangled her backwards, resisting the habit to pin her arm behind her back, threw her onto the bed and climbed over her as she wrestled against him.  Within five seconds she was pinned, puffing, electrified.  

"You're right," he said over her radiating body, stalling for time, "you're left arm's a little weaker..."  Her face was full of anticipation, set off by the recent healthy glow. But even a playfight was enough to send Dean's mind was racing away from sunshiney eyes.  He'd pleased her and now he wanted to please himself, his interest in her coming again slowly trickling away.  

While making a woman come on his fingers was a point of pride, it would also mean, in theory, she might last longer on his cock.  But now he wouldn't last long at all.  While his libido shoved him in the back, there was a small room in his imagination showing some grainy flick of Laura's gagging, salivating mouth on him and his hand on the back of her head.  But he didn't want to scare her, or hurt her, or be awful...

Again, Laura broke the silence.  "Would you like me to use my mouth?"  His glassing eyes snapped to hers but before he could even accept she kept talking: "Do you want me to go down on you?" she wrenched her wrists free and slowly came up to his face, kissing him lightly before talking into his lips and tracing her fingers over the V of his lower abdomen.  "Should I drag my lips up and down your throbbing, leaking cock till you're tunnel visioned, sweating and swearing?  Would you prefer your cum down my throat? or down my chin?"  His closed his eyes, hands hovered over her shoulders, not trusting himself to throw her down again.  She continued on, with no idea of the choices he was suppressing.  "Grab the bed head," she whispered, "and don't let go till you're done."

 _Thank God._ "Baby," Dean swallowed and shook his head a little, "I don't think I'll last long."

"I don't care," she answered, and removed her hands from him.  "Grab it and don't. Let. Go." 

He relaxed into her direction.  "Or you'll spank me?" he looked at her, as if she could have a hope of getting to that.  

"Or I'll stop," she said firmly, "and there'll be no second chances.  No patiently putting your hands back, no slippery shower jerk, no crack at dawn, and none of my damn bacon or eggs."

"Shit, Laura," lighter still, "that's mean."

"Nude up and on your back, sweetheart.  I owe you."

Dean slipped off his shorts, knelt beside her on the bed and lay down, reaching above himself to find the rail and waited.  And waited.  Laura looked, her eyes sucking in every little curve, every slippery dip, every piece of this terribly well put together example of a man.  She took a long time.

" _Do_ you need to take a picture?" he asked.

"Pffft Yes!" she scoffed, "God yes."

She leaned over him, untouching, and kissed him gently.  She licked his lips, kissed his chin and used the bridge of her nose against it to force his head back, making him arch for her - his resistance a mere formality - so she could kiss under there and let her eyelashes tickle him.  Down she went, kissing, blowing, circling and nibbling nipples, tickling them and lightly pinching just to hear him gasp, caressing his serrated ribs and resting stomach.  Fingernails were dragged from his waist to his thighs as Dean tried not to twitch away.  Down there Laura warmly danced her lips and ran her fingers over the puckered skin, the throbbing veins and straining head.  "So, what do you like?" she asked.

"It's all good," he said politely.  In truth, he wanted her to yank the orgasm out of him, and hoped desperately that she wouldn't play long.  He didn't want to beg for her to finish; he wanted to beg for another kind of mercy.

"Here again," she sighed, nuzzling the curls.  "Are you paying me back with this vagueness?"

"No," he breathed, eyes closed, starting to writhe under his own masochistic fantasy.  "I'm..."

Laura looked up at him, "Okay babe, either or." She started, "Hard or soft?"  He sucked on his teeth, "Hard."  

"Fast or slow?"  She was settling herself over him now, balancing her weight in readiness.  "Fast," he replied.

"Gentle or rough?"  Her grip around the base of his cock tightened, along with her grasp on his balls, and his heart made a break for it.  "Uh, rough."

"Wish me luck," she smirked.  "Good-AaaGod! Laura! Fuck!" he curled against her, knees off the bed, against the slamming speed she began with.  "Sonofa- Uh! God!"  She'd dived down, feeling the heat of him hit her hard and soft pallets and opened her throat to slide it as far back as she could take, quickly sucking and pumping, roughly, hand and mouth uncoordinated, cruelly erratic, revelling in his gasping voiceas she ravaged the most sensitive thing he had, and she maintained it.  Through her chaotic action, she could feel his body wouldn't relax, but he let his legs lengthen and his breathing find a pace between the moans.  Laura so wished she could see his face.  Then she paused for a moment to ring the rim of the head with her tight lips. Dean panted at the break, slackening while he could.  She swallowed against the bulb, licked heavily, swirled and flicked the crease, making him wince, and began slowly building the meanest pull, sucking, clenching below, her own lips soon going prickly and he gripped the rail, hips off the bed, gasping and praying.  No sooner had Dean grit his teeth to bare down and own the sensation, and she  _plunged,_ tightly, messily, saliva slipping over her firm hold, a hoarse  _Oh God_ coming from above her.  Finally, she gave him some rhythm, hand and mouth pummelling his cock, her grip easing enough to let his balls breathe.  Everything below his shoulders surrendered and rocked with her, curses given up for gasping moans.  Laura ignored the sting on the corners of her mouth, her instinct to gag, and pumped deeply, steadily gaining speed, focused on his aching moans rising to meet her at the crest, him soon exploding between her cheeks, cum slapping into the back of her mouth, and milked every last drop of his hot, fleeing juice as she gradually, so gently, slowed down, eased off... And let go.

Dean lay there, puffing. His hands let go the rail.  Laura sat back on her feet and watched carefully, eyes fixed on his wrecked face and his shining, heaving chest as she ran the back of her hand over her mouth and chin.

He put a hand over his eyes and tried to wind down, relax his throat, rest.  

She gave him some time, unsure of how well things had gone.

"Was that... what you wanted?"   _Calm voice.  Smooth voice.  Don't panic._

He began to breathe through his nose.  

"Dean?"  

He brought his other hand to lay beside him and he opened it, gesturing for one of hers.  

She looked at it and hesitated.


	7. Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where non-consensual things happen. They're imagined, but there. The story survives without them being read, so skip the block quote if such things trigger you.

 

 

 

> Dean flapped his knuckles against the bedspread again, impatient for her hand.  Laura slipped her own into the palm, meaning to sensually massage, but his fingers snatched around hers and he pulled her down.  She lay her head on his chest and his hand came to rest on her jaw.  He didn't move.  She couldn't tell who's heart was faster.
> 
> "I'm sorry," she said gingerly, "I suppose I thought you'd say stop if you didn't like it."
> 
> Dean opened his eyes, but still didn't move.  "I didn't say stop."
> 
> His tone gave her nothing, no new information.
> 
> Laura decided to sit up, to see if his face was saying anything, and was surprised to have him sit up with her.  Dean sat on the side of the bed, feet on the floor, completely turned away from her and she couldn't tell if those shoulders were relaxed, sated, sad or defeated.  She put her hands on them, smoothed from neck to arms, kissed him on the hairline.  The little hum he gave was hopeful.  She kept on running her hands over him, kneading a little, tickling in places, and kissing him behind the ears.  "Dean?" she asked again, "you doin' okay?"  He leaned over to his pants to collect something and Laura was vaguely aware of him doing something with something plastic, but it never occurred to her that he might be hard again, already.  "You want some water?" she asked.
> 
> There was a bottle by the bed, which he grabbed, opened and had a few gulps before offering it to her.  She did likewise and put it back and was till no smarter about his frame of mind.  She sat down behind him properly and slid her legs around him, down beside his own, feeling his warmth all the way from big toe to big toe.
> 
> "I'm sorry," whispering into the curve of his back as he ran his fingers along her thighs, "I should've asked 'mean or kind'."
> 
> He chuckled a short and low laugh, then stood, grabbing Laura's right wrist and pulled her up, swiftly leading her back to the where he'd spanked her and pinned her there again, his barrelling chest against hers, wrist pushed against the wall too, nose to nose.  This time, however, he was lower, and she knew the rubber-clad hardness was already between her thighs.  She felt trapped between that and his heavy gaze.  "I would've said mean," he almost sneered it and raised himself so that the head of him nudged her entrance.  He waited two seconds for her to say anything, but all she did was shift her knees further apart.  He straightened his legs, plunging into her, full length going the full depth and relished the shuddering moan she gave as they both slide up the wallpaper.
> 
> Dean felt her pelvis knock against the wall with every thudding effort.  She held on frantically, eyes tightly closed as she tried to get a reign on the action.  He looked at her lips, her gasping throat, her breasts and her rising colour.  She rested her spare hand on his neck and jaw, whispered his name in the gaps, imploring eyes now on his, but he wouldn't return the gaze.  He leaned in and palmed her breast as his teeth felt her shoulder, his hips pumping at a steady pace.  
> 
> Then, without any warning, he grabbed her from the wall, tight arms keeping her perched in place, and took them to the kitchen.  She kissed his shoulders on the way but gasped as the cold marble smacked against her ass.  Dean grabbed her knees, tilting her back and let her catch herself against the bench, clumsily knocking canisters.
> 
> He heard her say his name again, heard her questioning tone, but didn't respond. He could see himself starting through her chest, at nothing.  She smoothed her hand down his cheek again, as steadily as she could, "Dean... you okay?"  but he only answered by withdrawing and flipping her over, thoughtless of the discomfort she'd feel against the grinding stone.  "Ow! Dean!" she said as he slid into her again, "This isn't comfortable." The surging sound of rushing blood drowned her out.  On he went, frowning, sweating, unfocused, blocking out her ear-high shoulders, how she awkwardly braced herself against him and the counter-top.  "Dean?"
> 
> "Dean... please stop."  
> 
> How could she ask the question and still sound hopeless?
> 
> "Dean..."  

A snatched breath in.  Awake.  Awake and breathing and cold...  

 

Surely waking up scared and guilt-sick is a good sign.  

Laura lay beside him, pinning down his forearm, and he could remember now that she'd pulled the blankets over them both after he'd eventually told her it was perfect and playfully declared himself sex-drunk and sleepy.  It was still dark out, but he'd already had his usual four hours.  He looked down at her wavy hair, her bare shoulder, wishing he could flick off the images from his nightmare - her darting eyes and shaking lip, especially, made the skin of his back shimmer cold.  But burying it wouldn't be enough.  

We only bury dead things.  

Bring it out and pulverise it from existence.  

Bring it out and fucking choose.


	8. Abandonment

From where he was, Dean could see a horizon of Laura's face. She'd been up, at some point, and taken off her make-up.  What remained was delicately emphasised eyes and shiny, rosy skin.

He decided to snuggle in behind her and get a lung-full of that woman-scent. Besides being near Sam, few things had taken him home quicker than this close encounter. During his time as a demon, talking with people had been tedious. It was like chatting with toddlers - small words, shallow understandings, easy manipulation.  It had been especially annoying with women: he had to say _all_ the _things_ or no cigar _._ But this night he'd been lucky enough to find someone who was worth his time, someone with engaging conversation, provided you could keep from her distractions.  (Someone so good he might've actually skipped her pre-cure.) And all the things were now fun to say.  He didn't feel like the humanising had lowered him at all, for this to be enjoyable.  

Except it was lower.  And slower.

But it was better.

Whatever it was that connected to her fragrance, it hadn't connected to anything in those months.  He couldn't get enough.  He slipped himself up the back of her, ran a hand down her side, and discovered the silky underwear back in place.  

That was the moment, of course, Laura began to wake.  She sucked in a sharp breath and rolled back, the grey pre-dawn light giving nothing but enhancements.  Dean got out of her way, and watched as she tried to talk - "Mmmmmhey" - before a yawning stretch hijacked her whole body.  She unfolded her hands toward the wall, arched all her curves and gnnnnnn'd back into the pillow, little gasps escaping as she uncurled.  It wasn't the prettiest display, but holy cat-in-a-sun-beam, Dean swallowed hard.  

She blinked at him, reorganised her limbs and let her hand float up to his jaw as she smiled.  Then she sat up quickly to kiss him on the cheek and hopped out of the bed - "Back in a tick" - and he smiled at her as he watched her dash off the bathroom.  The door closed and his eyes drifted over the room, idly, slowly, taking in the clothes on the floor (good times), the bottle in the kitchen, the space beside him.  Suddenly he saw himself, naked, waiting for someone under a hotel bed sheet.  What was he doing?  This is the morning after... what was he _doing_ here? He didn't want to leave, but...  what was he doing talking about lunchtime curfews with Sam?  Surely he wasn't sating an addiction for female funk.   _Wait, waaait.  There's more sex yet...  Saved it...._

Laura strolled out of the bathroom, circled the bed and slipped back under the bedclothes, laying in his shadow as he propped himself on one elbow.

"You okay that I'm still here?" he checked.

"Yeah," she smiled more.  "Very.  To be honest, I'd feel a bit ripped off if you'd left.  And worried."

"Worried?" he asked, resting a hand on her waist.

"What I did... before," she shrugged her smile, "I think I surprised myself a bit.  Wasn't sure if..."

Dean interrupted her with a deep breath through his nose, raked his eyes over her form and slowly leaned into her as he spoke "Sweetheart, you. Have. No. Idea."

"Really?"

"I barely even knew I had that itch," he murmured and kissed her behind her ear.  

"Well, you certainly scratched my back," she figured, "so I suppose it's fair."

"And why would you have felt ripped off?" he asked from her neck.

"It feels like there's something left undone," she answered, lightly dragging her fingers down the back of his arm, caressed low on his waist.

He hummed and laughed into her throat, sliding himself over her.  "What do you want?"

"You first," she whispered.

"No darlin'," he was working his way down her chest, feeling the lace with his cheek and nudging the cushy flesh beneath.  "You've pleased me all over-"

"I think it's pretty clear I want you to fuck me," she said, and he lifted his head, eyebrow first, "but how do you want to do it?"

He couldn't decide.  That awful dream, its relentlessness, still echoed about him and haunted the kitchen, but he was drunk on the intimacy.  Only fleetingly did he worry about how domestic it was.  What he wanted was to smear her softness all over him... Fuck it.

"You take things off and I'll put something on," he said and slid away.  Laura shuffled off her silkies and waited.

As soon as he turned back to her he moved in, billowing the sheet away and settling between her amiable legs.  Laura wrapped her arms around what she could and couldn't even get eye contact before he kissed her, - of course, yes, one-night-stand - his weight rolling over hers, limbs slipping into place.  She felt him breathe deeply, his kiss rocking with it, and he used his chin to turn her head so he could taste her neck again.  He slowly surged against her, hand slipping over those viola curves, and she gasped at the one hard thing about him pushing against sensitive spots, almost mashing that button against the bone. 

He yanked the pillow out from under her head and propped himself on an elbow to peck at her lips while he talked.  "So, do you have any specific requests?"  

"There's lube on the night-stand," she said.

Dean's eyebrows bounced and he paused.  "What do you want to use that for?"

She paused too...  "Nothing new."

"Got it," he assured. "Otherwise...?"

"I'll let you know as we go?"

Dean reached over for the tube and squeezed some onto his finger before tossing back.  "Don't be shy," he smiled, ducking his hand under the sheets.

"You neither," Laura nodded, before humming and sighing at the feel of his digits slipping all over her warmth.  He leaned there, his hip on her thigh and spare hand caressing her hair, and dragged two fingers up inside her labia, slipping her clitoris between them.  Her pelvis and throat pulsed.  He did it a few more times - up and down - teasing the speedhump, listening to her wordless commentary grow louder, before sliding all the way inside, then out and back up again.  

"Oh God, Dean!" Laura opened her eyes to plead, "That is evil!"

He winced, barely, around the eyes.  As his fingers tripped the switch again she gently slapped a hand onto his cheek, aiming to reassure but entirely too distracted.  Dean felt most complimented.  He continued on, drawing out her sounds, then changed the rhythm, stopping to _trill_ four fingers over her clit, pinky to pointer.  "Aaaaahaha!" she shuddered, her hand pulling on his head, "OHdon't do that!"

"Really?"  He did it again.

"Oh Christ!"  she panted,  "Dean, it's too good."  He circled her there, waiting.  "Please, no more foreplay," she frowned her brow at him.

"This is hard to give up, Laura," he looked over her.  "You _seem_ to be liking it."  His hand slowed and began lazy strokes aiming for nothing.

"You're pretty full of yourself sometimes hey?"

"Hey a job well done," he shrugged.  

Laura shook her head.  "Well, _I'm_ the one who's supposed to be full of you.  Let's go."

"Little more of this first," he stalled, leaning his hip on her leg to keep her from bucking and he played her again.

She gasped and cursed through clenched teeth before taking a firm hold of his erection and calling his bluff.  A few deep pumps and he was making his own noises before snatching his hand away to grab her wrist.  He thumped it above her head, held it tightly with his leaning arm muttering "I don't think so gorgeous."

He reached back down, held her now sensitive bundle of nerves between his finger and thumb, threatening to do his best.  Laura looked up at him with tight anticipation.  He leaned down, taking a nipple between his teeth and flicked his tongue over it as he rolled her like a ball bearing.  Laura gasped, her spare leg squeezing against him, but he hinged it away, pinned it back with his other leg, and went back to stringing her out, loving her aching, gasping moans-

Three loud thumps.  From the wall they'd leaned against earlier.  "Keep it down!" came the muffled cry.

Laura's eyes grew wide.  "Oh my god," she whispered loudly, "...that's a bit annoying".  Dean sat back a little pulled both lips between his teeth before shaking his head into a sly grin.  "Well, I think that seals it... You in?"

 _What is it about him that makes me wanna fight?_  "As soon as you are," she grinned back.

"Okay," he said, lining himself up, "I'm gonna go hard."

"Break the fucking bed."

He slammed into her and her cry was the loudest yet. He couldn't resist putting his hand over her mouth, knowing it would only electrify her more, and thrust again, her noise jumping an octave under his palm.

He slowed a little, to let her breathe, let her ease around him.  He let go her mouth, tucked his arms in behind and under her and nestled himself into her form.  When she looked at him again, he said "This was how I wanted to do it...  close... and warm."

"It's delicious," she stroked his cheek, trying not to chew on him with her vagina.  "I'll miss it."

"Yeah, it is damn nice," he nudged and kissed her, tasted her, let it get away on them for a bit.  "I'm going to miss it too.... But that asshole changed everything.  You're getting what you want, baby." 

He held her tightly, pulling her waist into his curve and pumped into her steadily, deeply.  Laura's voice rose with each beat, even though she'd already forgotten to spite the neighbours.  She hugged him with her legs and pressed her fingertips into his shoulders as he tasted her neck.  Then he pulled his knees up, and pulled her up off the bed to sit in his lap while he sat on his feet.

Laura held on and held herself up, trying to help out in what she thought was a tough position, but he didn't seem fazed.  Then he began again at this new angle and depth and she gasped an "Oh! God!" in surprise.

"What was that?" he grunted cheekily, pausing for a moment.

She looked at him, both of them panting lightly, and her mouth slipped into a sideways smile.  He guided her up a little and slammed into her once - "Oh!" she gasped - and again, both with some volume " _God!_ "

"Yeah?  Who else?" he goaded, slipping his hand behind her neck as he thrust again.  

"Uh!  Jesus!" she was louder now, smiling through it, laying down the accent.  " _Jay_ sus _Chroist_!"

"Nice," he rocked a little.

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Laura puffed, "Help me out."

Dean was a little distracted, her face so heightened, her gazing at him from under those eyelashes, his thumb by her ear.  Still, he chuckled a little and when he bucked into her, Laura bit her lower lip, tightening her floor muscles to squeeze him as hard as she could.  He hit the volume but in the ambush he cried "UghJesus _Fuck_!!" and stopped still.  "Don't to that!" he winced, "ohshit."

"Really?" she asked "Why?"

"Too good," he was frowning, focusing, a hand around the base of him.

Laura leaned forward to peck his nose and give a little squeeze as she smugly said  "You seem to be liking it."

Dean looked at her then, ravenous for something, and Laura felt the backs of her arms tingle in anticipation.  He kissed her forcefully, muffling her cry as he slapped her ass cheek, and broke away to moan ruefully, pressing his forehead to her mouth, since he'd forgotten that a spank might make her tense around him again.  He shuffled back and slipped off the bed, dropping Laura the short distance to the mattress, her butt at the edge.  

He thrust into her again, Laura humming at the feeling, but then he picked up her legs and the angle shifted so that he hit her g-spot on every effort.  She cried out in a fresh voice and spoke on each beat "Uh!  God!  That's!  Good!" and soon her words slipped between the wet, meaty smack of him against her - "ohshitDean - ohGod - Mmm! - Dean! - Please! - Soon! - Uh!"

"You ready?" he asked.

 _"Please!"_ she ground out, dragging her fingernails over his ribs in an effort to pull him in.  He doubled his pace and she lost track of her words, everything watching that patch and how he pushed her aside to hit it.  For want of something to do with her hands, she let them slip between her own folds and when she pinched herself everything contracted, plunged, and shuddered.  Dean's hips stuttered into it - "OhSonofa-  ...God ....damn!" - and he paused deeply, letting the tremors of her orgasm envelope him and whip out his own.  

Before they'd even drawn breath, he'd wrapped hands behind her head and ribs and hinged her up for noisy, open kisses as they puffed against each other.  He grabbed onto her hip, pressing her against him, and sat on his feet again.  Laura wrapped her arms around him fiercely, her hold soon morphing into persistent grabbing and smacking kisses around his mouth and face, full of thanks.  He let her kiss him, tried to give a few back, smiling through the affection, and she smiled back at him with his head in her hands.  

Dean tilted back, awkwardly and clunkily laying himself on the carpet, pulling Laura along with him.  She lay on his chest, both of them puffing.  As he patted down her hair and kissed her head, he lazily reflected _Well, that was marshmallow good... where'd all the violence go?_

"Assholes" called the wall, both of them glancing up at the noise.  

"What a jerk," Laura sighed, rolling her eyes.  

"Jealous jerk," Dean corrected.  

"Has he been standing at that wall that whole time, waiting for us to finish?" she wondered incredulously.  

Dean laughed back, "I would've!" 

"You're both creepy old farts," she muttered.  

After a while, Laura managed to peel herself - literally - off his body and grab a box of tissues.  They cleaned themselves up and she pulled him to standing before backing onto the bed, leading him by the hand.  As they settled down and collected the sheets, it crossed her mind that it had been a very intimate one-night-stand so far.  This was going to be wrapped up soon... she decided, almost unconsciously, to begin the break now.

"I'll understand if you don't feel like cuddling," she said quietly and gave him an conceding and forgiving smile.  She genuinely meant to make it easy for him.

"What?" Dean scoffed, "Not cuddling with you now would be like not hitting on you yesterday.  Opportunity wasted."  And he slipped his hand under her arm, to the middle of her back, slid her across the mattress and into his body.  Got another deep whiff of her hair too.

"Okay," she sighed, "I'm just not sure what happens next."

"Sleep, then breakfast," he mumbled into her head.

"Rightio," she answered, eyes already closed.  Laura wriggled herself into a more comfortable position, trying not to giggle at a pretending-to-sleep Dean dead-weighting her efforts.  Apparently, if you've a few kilos of arm crushing your ribs you can breathe with your belly just fine.   _Delicious_.


	9. Hope

Dean left the bathroom to the sound of the front door opening, the tinkle of silver and crockery. He quickly ducked back to the bed, under the sheet, which was when he noticed things had been tidied a little: his clothes were folded neatly and on a chair, hers were in her suitcase with a bathroom bag beside it. But then he smelled... bacon.

He saw Laura turn around and gingerly close the door, being careful with the tray in their hands. She have him a sheepish "Hey" as she turned to see him awake and added "Grab a chair?" He got the idea and pulled one over in front of him, settling back on the bed with the sheet across his lap.

Laura pulled up another chair opposite him, relaxing at his delighted expression. It was almost boyish and completely new to her. "I wasn't sure what kind of diner you are, but figured you're doing a night of indulgence, so I chose caffeine, meat and grease," she explained, biting down on a hash brown.

Dean smacked his hands together as he looked at the choices. "Laura," he said, never breaking eye contact with the food "we're gonna need a budget for when I call you next..." He snapped off some bacon between his teeth, "This is an excellent precedent."

"Yeah," Laura laughed, "it's pretty top shelf for a dirty one night stand."

Dean grinned back and got a load of Laura's outfit - shorts, light t-shirt, barefoot - while they settled into the meal. She seemed to have relaxed into the situation, which was a great relief to Dean since he'd kind of gotten over the tutoring stage of the night. Having to baby-step her through a "morning after" routine was almost the least appealing thing he could imagine right now.  They both munched through a few mouthfuls, taking it easy.  Dean occupied his eyes with the food and her long legs.  She tried not to think too much about that.

"Hey, I think I ran into my neighbour at the buffet," she said, hand over her full mouth.  

Dean muffled an "Oh yeah?" in interest.  

"Yeah, he saw me putting the last things on the tray and his face was like 'That is way to much for one person!!'" she mimicked a flappy-cheeked, disapproving frown, "and I'm pretty sure my face said 'Pff! You're not gunna go hungry dude!'"  She leaned over for her coffee as Dean smiled at her story.  "And when I reached down for the tray and I think he must've seen something around here," she gestured to her chest and neck, "coz he went bright red and I honestly cannot say whether he was furious, mortified or just plain hot."

Dean grinned as he chewed and leaned his elbows on his knees.  Laura stared at him from behind her mug, rosy cheeks and cheeky eyes, feet rubbing together.  "I'd put my money on hot since now he'll have a face for that soundtrack we gave him."

"Ha!" Laura realised he was right. "Yelch!  Well, good thing I'm checking out today."

"You have a bite mark, by the way," Dean nodded at her neck.

"Where?!" Laura sat up, unconsciously touching the spot.  "I checked after I got dressed!" 

"Well, you missed it," Dean sighed, leaning back on his arms.  "Got my dental records all over you."  The way he looked at her... she wasn't even sure they were done.

"You seem ready to go," he commented.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Heading east to check out a hotspot."

"What's a hotspot?"

"A thin part of the earth's crust," she explained.

"How did we not work 'hotspot' into the evening?" Dean wondered, thinking back to her advice about geology puns.

"God that would've been a dilemma," she muttered.

"Of earth moving proportions?" Dean asked cheekily.

"You be careful there Sunshine," she pointed her piece of toast. "I will snap your complimentary toothbrush."

But he wasn't moved one bit.  

Well, one bit of him was moved.

Laura's eyes darted down, and before she could even form a thought he asked "When's check out?"

"Not for three hours... When's Sam expecting you?"

"Same."

While Dean stared at her, imagining what they could do next, Laura stared at him, wondering if him being clothed would've made a difference.

He shifted the chair and its tray away from them.  "Come'ere," he said, lifting a hand to her.  Laura stood and took it, licking her lips and then breathing in as his hand slipped up her thigh to her hip.  He shuffled closer to the edge of the mattress, pulling her between his legs as he held her hips.  He looked up at her and her hands slipped through his hair as she tried to commit this picture to everlasting memory. His colour was completely different, liked he'd gone from winter fireplace to summer surf.

"Thanks for getting us breakfast," he said quietly. 

"You're welcome," she murmured, caressing his features.  

She felt the tips of his fingers hook over the waistband of her shorts and panties.  "I'm still hungry," he sighed, as he pulled them down, still looking at her.

Laura didn't really know what she was thinking, and barely noticed herself breath an "okay" to him, because this man was slipping his tongue between her folds with daylight behind him and it was the morning after and _oh god_ that profile against her...

She couldn't keep her eyes open but still thought to say "Wait!-" and dashed over to her toiletry bag to pluck out a suspiciously handy condom, bringing it back to the bedside table.

"Alright, back here you," he murmured and nodded his approval as she took off her top and bra.  Pulling her near again, he clamped her legs closed with his own. Then, curling himself over, he cleanly licked up her, flicking over her clitoris, and smiled lowly at the way her thighs always seemed twitched at that.   He looked over her, all neat and secret, and went again, nudging the hood with his nose and closing his mouth over her, pushing his chin into the y-line of her lap, moaning deeply.  Laura groaned at the sensation and ran her hands up the back of his head, sending a shiver over him.  When he moaned into her again, she whispered his name and tried to pull him away.  But, of course - any opportunity to hold her - he took a forearm in each hand and pulled them behind her back, wrapping his arms around her and bending her body against his face.  She gasped and ached, beginning to wish he'd let up on her still-sensitive parts.

"Dean?" she said gently.

"Mmm?" he stopped at looked up at her, pleased with the view he'd created as her form curved up like a ship's figurehead.

"I'm still a bit... tenderised... from last night," she looked a little sorry, but didn't want him accidentally hurting her.

He thought a moment.  "Yeah," he breathed, "fair enough.  Me too..."

"Sorry, it's just, there's a big part of me that wants you to pin me down and flick me senseless with everything you have - _again_ \- but my small parts would be pretty pissed."

Dean huffed a laugh and kissed, muzzling and tickling her softly.  "Yeah, gotcha... Hey, can I get my wish?"

"What's that?"

He looked up at her hopefully.  "Warm and close... and slow?"

Laura tried to bend over, and tried to get her arms free, but he smirked and wouldn't let go, so she buckled at the knees and knelt in front of him while he leaned over to reach behind her.  It made her lean back in presentation and she watched his chest rise and fall along with his wanton gaze over her body.  She eyed off his erection, the sheet giving away the twitch.  "Sure," she said gently.  "Get dressed."

Dean let her go and she sat patiently while he put on the protection.  Then she shuffled to the bed beside him and leaned over, her figure hugging the 90-degree angle.  She looked at him from the mattress and asked, in a small voice, "A little of this first?"

Dean moaned, shaking his head as he chewed his lip. "Goddammit Laura! How am I gonna last when you do shit like this?"

"Please," she said quietly.  She was sweet and teasing in a way he hasn't seen, "Call it a compromise."  Then she pointedly places her wrists low on her back - right, then left - and let them lay there, crossed and promising.

"Damn it," he groaned dolefully.  He hesitated to touch her but couldn't help running a hand over her cheek down to her thigh.  She heard his whispering curses as he slid off the bed and got between her knees.  "Son if a bitch.  You're all milky and curvy and warm-" he muttered to himself, a hand running down her back.

"Inside and out, Dean," she wiggled at him.  "Just a little bit."

He sucked his teeth and she felt him line up with her entrance.  "Don't move," he ordered, and slowly inched his way into her.  She hummed when she felt his thighs against her and wiggled back again.  He grabbed her wrists, pinned them against her pelvis, and ground out "Stay still!"

Laura blew out a measured breath and stilled, doing her best to not respond to anything but suddenly feeling terribly aware of each thing to feel: sprawling fingers over her wrists and the pressure they put on her lower body; the warmth and fuzz of his legs against her; the thickness and reach of his cock; the sweet sting of the first stretch where she was pressed against the hilt; all that curly action tickling her ass; a softness resting against her lips; and the sound of his measured breathing as he decided what to do...

Dean pulled out very slowly, and came back in only slightly faster.  Laura stayed still again, which took a lot of focus because it felt exceptional, every vein and curve.  Out and in again, with more flow this time, and once more, slowing and pressing on the last plunge.  Dean groaned and leaned over, his forehead on her back.

"One more, Dean" she cooed.

"Uh-uh, I'll pop," he rolled his head against her. "You feel too good."

"Bullshit," she answered, "I don't feel that good," and when she heard him chuckle,  "Come on Dean I wanna feel your balls bounce off me."

He tsked at her.  "Yeah?" he talked with a clenched jaw, "like this?" he let her hands go to get a solid grip on her hips.  As he slammed into her, Laura grabbed onto his wrists and gasped at the feeling.  Again he went, thudding into her, her voice answering in surprise and pleasure, head and chest off the shifting bed.  The next time he thrust in violently and pulled out completely, her cry instantly slipping from major to minor.

Dean smacked her on her ass grumbling "Get up there."  Laura laughed through her breathlessness as she climbed onto the bed.  He smiled a crooked shit-eating grin, almost shaking his head again, following her crawl and as soon as she flopped onto her back he slid into her firmly, completely, just to shut her up.  Which it did, first with a hum, then a breath, then a gasp, as he pushed and tilted into her, watching her listen with her skin.  She lifted her knee to give more access and Dean grabbed it, pushing her back and open, loving the way she snatched at him in response.  He slid his hand down her thigh to knead her cheek and buried himself in her neck, her hair, her body and they just enjoyed their rhythm for a while.  

Laura ran her hands up his back and into his hair.  She kissed behind his ear, the shadows of his jaw, teethed him low on his neck while he got the warm, slow sex he was after.

"Was this what you wanted?" she asked.  He lifted his head to look at her, his pupils blown and eyelids heavy.  "Yeah," he looked at her softly, "Laura, it's just what I needed." With a half smile he kissed her.

"Good," she said against his mouth.  "I like it."

"Good," he kissed her again, but didn't pull away to ask "You gonna keep stirring me up?"

She struggled to think as he slowly nudged her up the bed.  "Uh... wha'd'yamean?"

"You gonna make me punish you again?" he asked.  "I can prolly dig deep if you really need me to fuck you straight," Laura smiled against him then, coz she'd come so far this past night, "you fucking apple shiner," they were both laughing now, "but if you think you can behave yourself-"

"I'm good," she laughed.  "This is good.  I'll be good...  Go for it."

"Coz I meant it," he looked down at her, a hand running over her breast and collecting its softness, "you're all warm and tight and humming..."

"Hmmm.  Well, I'm probably not going to come," she said gently, "but this feels so good, Dean." She writhed under him to emphasise her point, "I'm happy and satisfied and content.  Fuck me however you like."

Well that made him want to please her all the more.  He smiled at her thankfully - "Careful what you wish for" - quicken the pace a little, finding a rhythm, and nudged her with his nose and mouth, soon too breathless to kiss.  Laura made contented noises, puffing and caressing with his motion.  

Then, without warning, Dean picked up her hips with one hand, holding her against him and pulled her up to slip a pillow under her pelvis.  Laura wondered about his plan but on the first thrust - met with a sucking gasp from her and a teeth chewing groan from him - she recognised the angle from earlier, when he'd knelt on the floor and she'd been on the bed.  It was exquisite and almost too much.

The volume returned too. "Ugh!" Laura clawed at him as he found his pace again, "You! fucking! bastard!"  She closed her eyes just to avoid the smug view.  Each beat in and out dragged him over her g-spot, and she dug her nails into whatever they found just to get a handle on the nought-to-100 feeling.  Dean collected her scolding hands and held them against the bed, his elbows beneath her shoulders.  He kissed her jaw, listening to her wrecked voice pour curses into his ear.  The singing friction, her tightness and how she slipped over him, it was going to be over again soon, but he savoured every moment of making her move and babble like this.  He kissed her mouth and muffled her pained cries, listening for warning sounds of her end, and when he felt her shudder under him, he let her hands go, both of them grabbing onto the other's head as he thrust the last of his orgasm into her one more time.

He collapsed onto her and they puffed together, minds empty.  

After minutes had passed, Dean found himself looking at the white curtains and the broad columns of sunlight on the carpet.  That nightmare seemed so far away now, and even going from behind hadn't triggered a thing.   _What was it that had made the difference?_

A solid thud on the back of his ribs brought him round.  "Shit!  What the hell?" he turned his head to look at Laura, her fist still clenched above her head.

"You know exactly what hell," she said sternly, eyes closed.

Dean lay there, mapping out her eyelashes and lips.  Laura peeked at him and swallowed back a smile.  He propped himself up on his elbow and they looked at each other for a while. Then he began to sort himself out, pulling out and cleaning up.  He smiled at her over his shoulder before going to his clothes and starting to dress.  Laura sat up and began the same routine.

As she got on her boots and tied back her hair, checked bit and pieces, Dean snuck a few more bites of breakfast while microwaving a cup of coffee.  They glanced at each other with friendly faces, sneaking moments to watch, as they went about the room.

"Do you want me to drop you somewhere?" Laura asked.

"No, thanks," Dean answered.  "I think Sam needs to come back into town anyway."  But he began a text just to be sure: Do I need to get a lift?

"Well, if he doesn't, it's no problem," she assured, "even if it's just back to the bar or whatever."

She did a last check of the place, under the bed and such, and pretended not to notice the noise of a reply-text as she went into the bathroom.  

"Actually," Dean appeared at the door, "the bar would be handy."

"No worries," she nodded and handed him a paste-loaded complimentary toothbrush.  They leaned and brushed and smiled.

* * *

Dean slid into the passenger seat and closed the door with a happy sigh.  

Sam glanced at him.  "You don't wanna drive?"

"Nope," Dean stretched out his legs as much as he could. "Just gunna rest."

"That good huh?"

Dean said nothing. He closed his eyes and let Sam take them wherever they were headed.

"You eaten?" Sam checked.

"Yep."

Sam glanced at him and kept driving.  After half a mile or so, he couldn't keep quite.  "...Seriously? You're just gunna sit there all fuck-drunk and say nothing?"

Dean chuckled.  "How much you wanna know Sammy?  Freckles?  Fetishes?"

"I dunno," he sounded a little defeated.  "Silence is a bit tight though."

"You been pacing the floor over me, huh?"  Dean looked at him with one eye.

"A little, yeah," Sam admitted.  "...At least tell me you used protection young man."

They laughed, Sam especially as he began to relax and feel hopeful about Dean's state of health.

"Laura," Dean began, "Laura is...  pretty awesome."

"Yeah?  Good.  She seemed nice."

"That was a damn fine night.  Morning.  Whatever."

"...How did you go?"

"What?" Dean lifted his head to look at him.  "You want a report on my performance?"

"No! No, Dean! I mean..." Sam sighed, "you weren't an asshole, right?"

 _Ah.  That._  "No," Dean relaxed again.  "I'm pretty sure she had a good time."

Sam nodded.  "It wasn't hard?  To not be an asshole?"

 _"Sam,"_ Dean whined, and as Sam okay-okayed over him he said "I'll tell you if I'm off, alright?"

"Okay.  Sorry..." Sam backed off, then wondered, "Hey, you think she's your type yet?" 

"Holy shit man, how thirsty are you?" But Sam just laughed it off.  "Man, she's anyone's type," Dean shook his head.  "But yeah, there's probably a parallel universe where we're married with kids."

Sam's eyebrows couldn't have been higher even though he was trying to not read into it.  "Well... I..."  He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but had to take another look.  "Well, I hope that thought keeps you warm...  Man, the longer we go on the more I think that kinda thing his just not on our cards."

"Yeah," Dean shuffled in his seat, "but I've got her number.  Planning on getting warm with her again.  No doubt... My cards could be worse."


End file.
